


A million pieces

by Trash



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Angst, Dan is a misery but I mean what’s new there, M/M, Unrequited Love, sort of dyle but sort of not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 21:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: Dan should have never kissed Kyle.





	A million pieces

**Author's Note:**

> The Still Avoiding Tomorrow Tour has me feeling some feelings.

They’d been warned beforehand about the rooms. Staying in an old warehouse, of course there’s no windows. But it still surprises Dan when he walks into room 135. Stayed in worse, stayed in better. He wonders absently what Kyle thinks, tries to distract himself from that particular train of thought by going next door to the room they’ve booked out for him to write in. 

This one is just as bleak. Worse, perhaps, because of the single bed shoved against the wall in the corner. He unpacks the flight cases and sets up his keyboard, microphone, speakers. It’s so fucking cold he has to huff on his hands to flick the clasps of the cases cold. Fucking touring in February. 

He sits at his keyboard, hands hovering over it. Not an original thought in his head, so why bother. Gets up and heads downstairs to the bar. It’s not even lunchtime, probably not appropriate to order a beer yet. Orders a tea and sits by the window, watching the roadies unload the trucks. 

He’s not paying attention, almost shits himself when Kyle drops into the chair opposite him going, “Mate.”

“Mate.”

“I’m hungry. You hungry?”

Dan shrugs, goes for casual. “I could eat, I suppose.”

“Great. Let’s get a taxi into town, find a pub.”

Dan glances around. “Should we-“

Kyle waves a dismissive hand. “Just us,” he says. 

“A date, then.”

Kyle gets up, laughing. “Yeah, bro date. Move your arse.”

Dan does. 

***

It’s easy to pretend it’s a date. That they’re just a pair of guys on a date. Guys who are out and proud. Guys who do kissing and hold hands. Dan drinks his beer quickly, looks anywhere but at Kyle licking chicken wing sauce off his fingers slowly. He moans, low and pornographic. “Want one?”

“Nah, full mate. Glad you’re enjoying them. You need some alone time?”

Kyle laughs and starts on the next wing. “And a cigarette.”

They stand outside afterwards, Kyle smoking and Dan wishing he had a joint. Something to do with his hands. “Can I bum one?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah. Pre-show warm up?” 

Dan laughs and takes the cigarette Kyle produces from his tin. “What’s this prison rollie bullshit?”

Kyle shrugs, exhales smoke through his nose. “Habit from uni. Frugal, innit.”

They stand too close together, smoking. Dan is hit with the desire to hold his hand, which is ridiculous. It’s ridiculous. One drunken kiss does not a boyfriend make. He knows that. He knows. Keep it in your pants, Smith, he tells himself. Wishes Ralph were here, suddenly. If not to talk to about this with then to at least shag. 

“Janna wants me to FaceTime her later,” Kyle says. “Don’t let me forget.”

“I won’t,” Dan tells him. And he won’t. Because that’s what friends are for. He smokes the cigarette down to the filter and flicks it away. 

“David Attenborough would go off it if he saw that.”

“Fuck David Attenborough,” Dan says, and Kyle laughs. 

***

Later, in the wings. And Lewis stumbles off and almost into Dan’s arms. “Shit, pal,” he says, “sorry. Sorry. I need.”

And Dan recognises a panic attack when he sees one, takes his arm gently and guides him away, to the stage door. The air is fucking cold, and he should be getting ready with the band. But this is more important. 

Lewis kneels down, head between his knees. “Deep breaths,” Dan tells him. “That’s it. Good job.”

“Sake. How embarrassing.”

Dan shrugs. “Not really. Had my share of them.”

“I forget,” Lewis says as he sits up a bit, looking up at Dan. “I remember reading about it. About your anxiety. Made me feel better. Does this ever happen now?”

“Not so much. You can get a handle on it quickly if you have to.”

“What sets it off for you now?”

Dan thinks. All he can call to mind is Kyle. Kyle and Janna, FaceTiming one another and blowing kisses down the phone. Thinks of his windowless writing room. Thinks of the stage, the lights. “Not sure,” he says, not completely honestly. “Couldn’t tell you.”

***

He can’t sleep. Post show buzz. Only it’s four in the morning, so not really. Reception is open, and the guy propped up behind the desk looks entirely unsurprised to see Dan hovering by the bar. 

“It’s open, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says. 

Dan looks at him, feels transparent, blushes. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks. Can I...it’s still night time really, innit?”

The receptionist laughs and crosses the room to the bar. “Exactly. What can I get you?”

Rum and coke. And he sits outside with the glass clasped tightly between his hands. He sips it slowly, pulls his phone from his pocket and messages Ralph. 

‘Did I ever tell you I kissed Kyle?’

Doesn’t expect a reply - it’s the arsecrack of dawn. Gets one. ‘No. But. Not surprised to hear this news.’

Dan laughs. ‘Fair enough.’

‘Go to bed. You need your beauty sleep.’ Ralph tells him, followed by a string of random emojis.

Dan sends back the upside down smiley face with the water pistol to its head, puts his phone away and necks his rum. Fuck sleep, though. Goes for a walk instead. The canal running behind the warehouse looks like ink in the dark, and the unlit tow path seems narrow. Dan feels like a gymnast on a beam. One foot in front of the other. Don’t fall, don’t fall.

Something he’s been telling himself for months. 

***

Manchester. Day two. Dan’s ability to put a smile on his face shocks even himself. Antidepressants will do that to you, he supposes. All he ever gained from his medication was the flawless ability to fake happy.

He wonders how Kyle can be so oblivious. Especially during A Million Pieces, which Dan tries not to sing to him. He tries, he really tries. 

_You blow my mind. You make my heart beat faster, faster, faster, faster, fast._

He’d been managing fine, he had. Everything had been okay. Then they went on a date. If it wasn’t a date, could have been. In a different life. And now he feels shattered. A fist in a mirror.

_If it’s gonna break me, won’t you let me go?_

Dan looks anywhere but at Kyle who is beaming. Full of joy, light. It’s better like this, Dan reckons. Kyle doesn’t need to be around him. He’s a black hole. A void. 

After the show, after the fans outside the hotel, on the bus on the way to Glasgow, Dan goes, “What do you want to do for your birthday?”

“Someone on Twitter suggested I build my coffin.”

Dan laughs. “One step closer to death,” he says. “Thirty fucking one. You’re old, now.”

“You’re thirty three this year,” Kyle says. Then, randomly. “How old was Jesus when he died?”

“Ha, fucking, ha. How old was Judas when he kissed him?”

“I’m taken, mate,” Kyle says. 

And Dan manages to keep his smile in place. “I’m safe from Pontius Pilate then.”

Kyle laughs. “Safe as houses,” he says. 

Dan feels anything but.


End file.
